


Get Where You've Been Going

by Giddygeek



Category: Entourage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-20
Updated: 2006-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 04:10:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1630799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Giddygeek/pseuds/Giddygeek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>With many, many thanks to Miss Pamela, Terri, and Shalott for beta!</p><p>Written for Steph</p>
    </blockquote>





	Get Where You've Been Going

**Author's Note:**

> With many, many thanks to Miss Pamela, Terri, and Shalott for beta!
> 
> Written for Steph

 

 

Eric goes to get drinks and doesn't come back, which leaves Vince sitting alone with four of the hottest girls in the club and Drama, sullen because he's been shut out; the girls aren't interested. Shitloads of fun. Vince puts up with it for a while, until the blonde with the smaller tits starts rubbing them all over his arm, and then he slides out of the booth and smiles.

"Keep my brother company," he says. "I'm gonna go break the seal, I'll be right back."

"I can help," the blonde says, batting her lashes at him. Her friends giggle. Drama snorts and recrosses his arms over his chest. Vince says, "I think I can handle myself, sweetheart," winks, and escapes.

He doesn't head for the bathrooms; he's hoping to find Eric and get out of the club. Who knows what the problem is, but every night out seems a lot more like business than pleasure lately. Even the girls are work, and the ones who should've been more than welcome to follow him somewhere private are welcome to stay at the table and entertain themselves.

Eric seems to be having a great time. He's bellied up to the bar. He has his drink in his hand and Vince's drink sitting at his elbow. Vince hesitates, then leans against the railing, watching from the second floor as Eric tips his head down, grinning, and then laughs. The guy standing next to him puts a hand on his forearm and smiles at Eric's bent head, a big white smile like he thinks he's won something.

He's not the first guy to smile at Eric like that lately. Eric's been giving off some kind of vibe, Vince thinks, and keeps drawing hopeful guys in for what sometimes turns into hours of conversation. And then he leaves them alone and confused at the end of the night, without seeming to have any idea what he's done.

Vince has plenty of ideas about what Eric _could_ be doing. Vince has, in fact, an overactive imagination. Comes with the trade, makes him good at what he does, makes him what he is. So he braces his forearms on the railing and looks down at Eric, imagines their life like a movie.

In this version, rated R, Eric is going to go home with this stranger. The guy drives a nice car, nothing like Vince's cars but nice. He has a nice place. He's just a nice guy. He looks like the type, the boy you'd bring home to Mama, if Mama wouldn't beat you upside the head with a wooden spoon for bringing home a boy, and then cry until you promised to never do it again.

Vince imagines the guy's big bed made up with dark blue sheets, blankets too heavy for southern California. He imagines that the guy puts his hands on Eric's body and they look good, they make Eric feel good; the guy knows what he's doing.

He imagines that Eric stays because he thinks being fucked like that means something, stays again because he falls for people hard and fast. And then it's a fade in to Vince having breakfast with Turtle and Drama every morning, alone. Fade out watching Eric go off to this guy's apartment, where he'll spend every night until the inevitable messy breakup. It's a romantic dramedy, a mishmash of genres, with bonus full-frontal nudity in the unrated DVD.

Vince shakes his head. Of course, no matter how clearly he can imagine the scene in his mind, in reality it's not going to happen. He doesn't think Eric gives these guys a second thought when he leaves them behind.

When he leaves them behind, and goes home with Vince.

Down at the bar, the guy's hand is on Eric's shoulder. They've turned in towards each other. Vince can see the guy's eyes travelling from Eric's eyes to his mouth to the casually undone buttons on his shirt, signals clear as day. This guy is about to make a real move.

He's tall, lanky, so they're not exactly dick to dick when the guy fakes being bumped by someone passing, but Vince can see Eric go tense, narrow his eyes. The guy is smart and backs up again, apologizing, but Vince is on the move before Eric has time to do anything more than nod and relax.

He slides up behind Eric, grabs the drink at Eric's elbow and downs it. "Hey," he says to the guy, smiling, toothy. Vince bumps Eric with his shoulder, moves forward just enough to bring their bodies into contact at different points; shoulder, elbow, hip. He feels a thrill of satisfaction when Eric allows it without even seeming to notice. "You want to go home?"

Eric blinks at him, looking surprised. Vince hasn't been getting involved in his discussions with these guys, so far. "You all right?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Vince says, laughs a little, knowing how it sounds. "I'm just ready for bed, you know?"

Eric stares at him, then finishes his drink in a fast swallow and faces the guy again, holds out his hand. "Theo, nice to meet you," he says with genuine pleasure. At heart, he's such a nice guy. Vince bumps into him again, more forcefully, and Eric shoves an elbow back into his ribs. "Give me a call when you know more about that project. It sounds great."

"Absolutely," Theo says, and holds Eric's hand longer than Vince is comfortable with, but lets go with an easy smile. "Have a good night, guys."

"You bet," Vince says, and guides Eric away from the bar with a hand low on his back, leaning in to whisper, "We're just gonna ditch Drama and Turtle, okay? I don't want to fight about it, I just want to go."

Eric looks like he's about one second away from checking Vince's forehead for a fever. "Seriously, are you all right?"

" _Seriously_ , I'm fine." Vince looks back over his shoulder. Theo is watching them go; he catches Vince's gaze and salutes them with his drink. Vince smiles and hustles Eric towards the upper level, the VIP exit. He leaves his hand on Eric's back as they climb the stairs and says, "I'm just ready for a change of scenery."

~~~

On the ride home, Eric takes two calls from Marsuka, the last girl he managed to dump at just the right time and in just the right way to guarantee that she's gonna be stalking him for _months_.

Vince sprawls out in his seat and watches the city crawl by. He's lived here or in New York his whole life, pretty much; he still remembers how strange it felt to have a clear open road the first time they were in Connecticut, visiting Eric's cousins. He even remembers being a little freaked out by the house, how it was in the middle of miles and miles of nothing. Eric's aunt had put them in a room with bunkbeds, but Eric hadn't said a word when Vince crawled into the top one with him when the lights went out.

"Marsy," Eric says, trying to be patient. "Marsy, I told you--no, I didn't sleep with her. No, I wasn't sleeping with anyone else. No, I'm not fucking hi--Christ, do you have to be such a fucking _pig_?" He tosses the phone into the backseat of the SUV and Vince twists in his seat to watch it land, lost somewhere in a jumble of golf clubs and leashes for the dogs.

"Leave it there," he says, looking back at Eric. "Get a new phone tomorrow, new number, everything."

"I'm gonna have to," Eric says, resigned. "Fuck, Vince, what is it? How do I end up with these women?"

Vince shrugs. "It's not the girls, it's how you dump them," he says, for probably the millionth time. "You're just too _nice_ about it."

Eric snorts. "Yeah, well, I'm not gonna do it like you do, either. You think I want angry women chasing me all over the fucking state?"

"How many of my women are angry?" Vince asks, spreading his hands and smiling when Eric shoots him a look. "Just admit it: I am the master."

"The masturbater, maybe," Eric says, and Vince reaches out to tousle Eric's hair even though Eric yelps, "Driving! Fuck off!"

"You feel any hair growing on these palms?" Vince rubs Eric's head hard. "No? You know why? It's been so long since I had to jerk off, I've forgotten how."

He sits back and sprawls his legs out a little wider, puts a hand on his thigh. Eric looks down, quick, looks at him out of the corner of his eye, looks back at the road. "If you're giving lessons though, I can go get my magnifying glass and a notebook," he says, innocent as can be, and Eric is so clearly torn between laughing, punching him, and touching him, Vince almost feels bad about teasing him.

Almost.

Eric swallows hard, once, twice, his adam's apple bobbing. "I think the last thing you fucking need is a lesson in self-worship," he says finally, as they pull up in front of the house, and Vince laughs and doesn't disagree.

~~~

Eric's third nice guy of the week, Vince almost doesn't get to him before he's made a date. He's saying, "Yeah, you know, that sounds good--" and when Vince comes up beside him, leans an elbow on his shoulder and smiles at his friend, Eric says, "DeShawn was just telling me about his pool, how awesome the lights look at night from--"

"Cool," Vince says, smiling wider. "E, we gotta go home, I got stuff I want to do before we go to bed." He's not trying to be subtle about it, leave DeShawn guessing, he's trying to out and out imply _before we go to bed together_ ; he's had about enough of this shit, this game, whatever it is that Eric's playing.

DeShawn raises an eyebrow and Vince can practically see him thinking in dollar signs: where can he sell the gossip, where can he leak the news? But Vince really doesn't fucking care anymore. He's got a billion dollars worth of trilogy revenue under his belt, awards for the independent films, so many offers on the table that if he self-destructed tonight they'd be asking him to star in _that_ movie too--so whatever.

"Right," Eric says, glaring at him, and then he holds out a hand for DeShawn to shake. Idiot. He's shaken more hands than a politician in sucking-up season. "DeShawn, nice to meet you. I'm sure I'll see you around some time."

"I'm sure," DeShawn says, smooth as silk, and Vince flashes him lots of teeth as he guides Eric away.

"Are you really this stupid?" he asks Eric as they make their way to the car. "Because if I'm the smart one, we're in serious trouble here, E. Come on."

Eric snorts at him. "Are _you_ really this fucking stupid? Because if you keep that shit up, that going to bed shit, next week the tabloids are gonna start saying you're fucking guys, I don't know, you're in bathrooms with Lance fucking Bass."

Vince slams his door and says, "Well, you know what? Fuck that, I'll just tell them he's awesome in the sack," and they both sulk all the way home.

~~~

They were high the time Vince's hand landed on Eric's thigh, and slid up, up, while Eric slid down in his seat, his eyes half-closed and his legs falling open.

Then Turtle came racing around the corner, Drama hot on his heels, screaming about something, and Vince dropped his hand. Eric sat up, shook his head like a wet dog, and said, " _Fuck_." He looked like he was gonna say more, too, a lot more, four letter words in enough combinations to turn the air blue around them, but instead he just got up. He walked away.

Vince didn't touch him again, not even by accident, for the longest two months of his life.

~~~

The next guy doesn't look quite so nice. He's tall and lanky too, with dark hair that flops over his eyes, but when Vince spots them talking in a corner of the club, the guy has Eric backed against the wall and is leaning into him. Eric has to look up to meet the guy's eyes, which he's doing real calmly, like this is any tough guy at home, the kind who goes away if you keep your cool.

This guy is nothing like that at all.

While Vince watches, this guy leans in closer, pulling Theo's oops-got-bumped trick and getting right in Eric's space, but not bothering to move away again. Eric straightens up and Vince recognizes the smile on his face even in profile; Eric's grown up a lot, but there's some part of him that's still a brawler.

Vince winces and heads towards them, but Eric says something sharp and biting, and this guy, this guy is clearly an idiot because he seems to take whatever it is as a challenge. Vince can practically read his lips-- _hey sweetheart, I can give you something better to do with that mouth_ \--

Eric throws the first punch.

After that, things get a little crazy pretty fast. The guy goes stumbling back, totally shocked, and lands ass-first on someone's table. Drinks go spilling, girls start screaming. Some other hotshot comes shooting out of the booth and grabs the guy's collar, spitting in his face, and Vince gets to Eric just before security does.

"He's with me, he's with me!" he says, and drags Eric away from the erupting fight, although Eric digs in his heels and twists, like he wants to go back. Vince tightens his grip on Eric's arm and tugs and with the kind assistance of a guard who shoves them to the side and a crowd that closes behind them pretty quick, he manages to get Eric out of the way.

"What the fuck was that!" he yells as he drags, pushes, pulls Eric to the SUV. "Jesus Christ, Eric, where do you think you are?"

"I sure as hell didn't think I was in some leather bar!" Eric yells back. "Fuck you, Vince, you should've let me take another swing at that guy!"

Vince rolls his eyes. "You've been _bringing_ the leather bar, Eric. Half the guys in half the clubs we've been to lately have thought you were out trolling. So fuck you, you're having some kind of sexual identity issue, you either fucking deal or leave it alone!"

Eric is brick red, painfully flushed, and he fumbles with the keys. He drops them. His hands are shaking a little. Just like that, Vince stops being pissed off and says, "Hey. E?"

"Leave it," Eric says, and crouches to fish the keys out from under the car. "Just leave it alone. For once, Vince, okay?"

Vince takes a step back. He leaves it alone. They drive home in silence.

~~~

The thing is that it's Vince's job to be the one acting out, and Eric's job to be the one fixing the problems. They have a contract and everything.

Vince is out of practice when it comes to worrying about Eric. So he stays up all night after the fight thinking, what does Eric want? What is he trying to get out of this? And all he can come up with is the fact that Eric doesn't ever go home with the guys. He doesn't even really encourage them. He just talks to them, makes friends, and says a polite goodbye when Vince comes rushing in from whereever.

All Vince can think is that what Eric really wants is the part where he comes rushing in.

Lots of people have been attracted to Vince in his life but Eric was the first. That's the simple truth.

More than that, though, Eric was the first one who really saw short, skinny Vinnie and realized he was gonna be something, someone. Eric was the one who let Vince crawl into bed with him when the wide open spaces of a Connecticut farm seemed eerie, and he was the one who took out three guys in a fistfight when Vince got pinned down and needed help. He was the one who helped Vince figure out a tie, who sat on the arm of Vince's chair and didn't seem to notice other people looking at them, who came to California to make Vince's life go smooth.

Eric was first, and Vince never forgets that. And he thinks that maybe Eric hasn't forgotten it either.

~~~

"You guys coming out tonight?" Turtle asks. He's wearing a blue track suit and more bling than any three rappers combined. His hair looks shellacked. He's beaming, ready for a wild night.

"Nah," Vince says, and crosses his ankles on the coffee table. He tightens the strap on the Wii controller; they've gone through three already between tossing them through televisions, busting them on coffee tables, and accidently leaving them for Arnold to chew. "I think I'm getting old, Turtle--I want to hang out in my PJs and eat pizza at home."

"Yeah, either you _are_ getting old, or you had a sex change," Johnny says. He preens in the doorway. "Looking good?"

"Looking _excellent_." Vince gives him the thumbs up.

"Ha. All the better to take your chicks with." Johnny saunters off, punching Turtle in the arm as he goes. "C'mon, bro, let's leave these girls to their diaries and their toenail polish."

"E, you're not partying either?"

Eric has his laptop out. He's had his laptop out for hours. Vince knows for a fact that he's been playing Sudoku online, but he's pretending to be busy. "Nah," he says, voice distant and absorbed. "Contracts."

Vince rolls his eyes at Turtle. "See, I'm not even staying home alone," he says. "It's me, Eric, and the contracts."

"Paaaaartaaay," Turtle says, and rolls his eyes back. "Well, fine, whatever. We'll see you when we see you. And hey--don't forget to paint Arnold's toenails too, okay? Big Fluffy'd be all sad if he missed out on the fun."

"You got it," Vince says, and Turtle's calling for Johnny, hurrying him out of the house; it's almost ten, they're gonna be late. They rush around and then they're gone and it's all quiet, Eric ignoring him from too close to mean it, Arnold snoring at his feet, the game screensaver on the television screen.

"Eric," Vince says, and Eric doesn't look up, but his shoulders go tense. "E. We need beers."

It takes Eric a minute, but then he sighs and sets the laptop aside. "Fuck yeah," he says, and they race each other to the fridge.

~~~

Vince decides he _knows_ he's getting old because putting on a pair of plaid pajama bottoms and a t-shirt and padding around the house, drinking beers, playing with the dog, harassing Eric--it's better than the clubs. When Eric tosses him a package of Oreos and pulls a joint out of a drawer in the kitchen that Vince would swear he's never seen in his life, it's so much _more_ than better. He follows Eric back into the den and collapses on the couch, beer in one hand, joint in the other, cookies on the table and Arnold's head on his knee.

"This is the best," he tells Eric, who snorts and sprawls next to him and reaches for the joint; Vince plays keepaway until Eric pins his arm down at the elbow and climbs half over him to get to it. "Really," he says, feeling Eric warm and solid against him. "The best. You're the best."

"Are you fucking wasted?" Eric gets the joint but stays crouched above Vince, pushes his head back and looks into his eyes. "Did someone get in the house and slip you a roofie or something? I've told you and told you to be careful what you drink but you never listen to me and one day you're going to wake up naked on the freeway, and then you'll regret it."

Vince grins up at him. "Is that how that happened? Turtle said I just decided I _wanted_ to play naked Frogger."

Eric's eyes go huge and dark, his mouth falling open. " _What_ \--I'm gonna fucking _kill_ \--"

Vince laughs and moves fast, jerking his knee so that Arnold grumbles at him and jumps off the couch, tags jingling, and then he leans forward and dumps his beer next to the cookies. Eric is busy ranting about Turtle fucking risking his life, his career, and he doesn't even shut up when Vince turns and gently pushes him, toppling him back against the arm of the couch.

Eric almost loses the joint, yelps as he burns his fingers fumbling with it, trying to keep it off the cushions. "What the fuck, Vince," he bitches, and then Vince settles between his thighs and he says, "Oh."

"Hi," Vince says, settling in more comfortably. He reaches over and drops the joint on the coffee table and then drags Eric's leg up, thigh against his hip. Eric is wearing boxers, and Vince lets his hand stay on Eric's skin, feeling the crisp hair, the solid muscle. "I never actually played naked Frogger. I just wanted to wind you up."

Eric is staring up at him like Vince is a stranger. "Good job," he says. "Get off me before I clock you."

"Let me just ask you a question," Vince says. He wiggles his hips and Eric's hands land on his waist, fisted, like maybe he does want to take a punch. Then they flatten. His palms are broad, hot even through Vince's t-shirt, and they feel fucking amazing. Vince pushes into them, then grins and leans up, gets right in Eric's face. "Honestly, did you not know that your new friends at the clubs wanted to take you home, or were you waiting for me to notice and make a move?"

"Vince, get off me," Eric says, but his hands are holding Vince down. "I don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

"Those guys, they kept thinking they were going to get lucky with you." Vince shakes his head. "And then you kept coming home with me."

"I _live_ here," Eric says and he shifts under Vince and it's suddenly perfect; they're cock to cock and both half-hard. Eric looks away but Vince braces his weight on one arm and touches Eric's cheek with his fingertips, slides them back into his hair. He pushes a little and Eric looks back at him, flushed, a little angry, a little confused, so fucking hot for him that Vince can't help but smile.

"I noticed," he says, and kisses Eric like he's been wanting to do for years.

~~~

It's clear that Eric _doesn't_ know what he's doing with a guy. He kisses soft and sweet and seems almost surprised when Vince pushes him for more. He keeps his hands in this safe zone around Vince's waist, palms flat and hot, not reaching for skin. He wriggles, restless, like he's not exactly comfortable with Vince between his legs.

At the same time, he's hard as a rock. When Vince gets a hand shoved under his shirt, Eric arches into it and groans, his mouth open and wet the way Vince wants it. When Vince pushes and tugs, Eric helps him get the shirt off and then his hands are right back on Vince, digging into his sides; safe, neutral territory, but fuck, they both want something else.

Vince kisses him again, nips his bottom lip and then pushes back. "C'mon," he says, pulling his own t-shirt off, "just _touch_ me already."

"Vince," Eric says, rough and raspy, and then he shakes his head. "Holy fuck, Vince, why are we doing this?"

Vince blinks down at him, half in and half out of his shirt. "Because...we want to?"

"We _want_ to fuck up a friendship that's lasted more than half our lives?"

"We want to get where we've been going more than half our lives," Vince says, and tosses the t-shirt behind him.

Then he waits. There's a chance this is where he wants to go, but not Eric, after all. There's a chance he's been reading things wrong all these years. Maybe he's moving too fast, maybe it's not the right time, maybe there could never be a right time for this.

Eric looks at him, and then his hands are resting on Vince's sides again, but this time they're slowly sliding up. His fingers are dragging over Vince's ribs. Vince takes deep breaths and they feel so good, like Eric's hands on him bring something new to the experience.

Vince knows what he's doing with a guy, but he doesn't know what to do with a feeling like that. He says, "E?" a little unsure, tentative suddenly, and that seems to be what makes Eric decide. His eyes clear and he says, "Yeah, Vince. Yeah," and pulls Vince down.

~~~

It's a fast, easy orgasm, their cocks pinned between them, their bellies slick with sweat and pre-come. Eric's hands push Vince into just the right rhythm; he says Vince's name when he comes and Vince shudders, tries to make himself last but forget it. There's no way. He rests his forehead on Eric's shoulder and comes too, gasping.

It's not exactly a comfortable position, he realizes when the rush starts to wear off. And besides, the waistband of his pajama pants is digging into his thighs, and his ass is going to have little red marks where Eric dug his short nails in; so is his back. He's winded like he ran a marathon. And Eric's not going to be much better off, since Vince knows for a fact that he's going to have a few hickeys on his neck, maybe some beard burn, who knows what else.

"You're heavy," Eric says, and Vince struggles to move off him, give him some breathing room--on the inside of the couch, against the back, so that he'll have to go over Vince if he wants to get up.

Eric makes a face and leans over him, grabs his t-shirt off the floor and cleans off their stomachs. "Nasty," he says. "But at least we didn't ruin the couch."

"We didn't ruin anything," Vince says, and rests a hand on Eric's arm, running it from his elbow to his shoulder. "Right?"

"You never worry at the right time," Eric says. "Ever, seriously. I'm going to get you an alarm and ring it for you--danger danger, worry now."

Vince grins. "I'm not worrying," he says, and he's not. He wants a shower, and a glass of water, and some Oreos, and he's not worried. "I'm just saying--I don't think we ruined anything. I want you to know."

Eric touches his mouth and Vince kisses his fingertips. "Yeah," he says, quietly, and then, "We've gotta clean up before Drama and Turtle get back and find us like this or we'll _never_ hear the end of it."

"Where's my afterglow?" Vince complains, but he rolls off the couch and pulls Eric to his feet. "Where's my cuddle?"

"With your chicks," Eric says, grinning a little, and Vince rolls his eyes, kisses him hard, and helps him clean up the mess.

~~~

Vince doesn't ask Eric to spend the night in his bed, and Eric doesn't seem to assume that's where they're headed. He probably needs space, Vince thinks, watching Eric methodically empty and rinse beer bottles, which they almost never bother to do. He probably needs time to think. So when the den looks like they had a good time but not a drunken orgy, he passes his hand over Eric's shoulder and says, "Good night, E," and he takes the Oreos, gets a drink, and showers alone.

He dries off and crawls between his sheets and tries not to think, not to get himself started on the worrying, which is Eric's job; that's in their contract too. He doesn't notice when he falls asleep, and it's not a deep sleep anyway, but he drifts for a while, sort of dreaming.

He wakes when he hears Eric quietly saying his name, "Vince. Vince." Eric's eyes are glittering in the moonlight, wide, a little freaked out, like he's just discovered all that open space around the farm house.

Vince's heart twists in his chest but he thinks, it's okay, he came here, and he pulls back the blankets, and neither of them says a word as Eric crawls in, and lies down beside him.

 

 

 


End file.
